


Dilemma

by orphan_account



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bittersweet, M/M, Minor Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot, Murdoc tries his best, Phase One (Gorillaz), Phase Two (Gorillaz), Protective Russel hobbs, Sad Stuart "2D" Pot, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Weird Plot Shit, updated tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-03-10 22:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13510833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: **AS OF 9/28/2018** "Dilemma"Manipulation, behind the scenes chaos, and letting hell loose: this time, Murdoc Niccals isn't the one to blame! He sure does pay for it though.( ( UPDATES EVERY MONDAY AND FRIDAY ) )**Old Summary** "Deserve Better"Murdoc doesn't care. Never cared for whatever was between 2D and himself, surely? Right.Why stick around waiting when a drummer is right *there*





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AS OF 9/25/2018** This chapter is really gross--I've risen from the dead, unfortunately I won't redo this ugly chapter but I can damn well make sure the rest to come are LOADS better.

The damp air, a suffocating aroma of booze, sex, and most notably a biting spice of masculinity, that 2D came to associate with Murdoc Nicalls, had lost all familiarity; instead of the enticement he had felt on square one 2D was nonplussed by the moribund of the relationship he held with the Bass player. Once his sentinel, that he believed could love him despite his foibles, now stepped down the pedestal and revealed his true workings of his person; and the Bassist was proved to not only be boorish but bilious in all senses - just as Russel had said. The once amatory physique of the man-in-question had been defamatory and, instead, an execrable and friable beast emerged expecting the cerulean haired singer to shower him with love that he did not deserve - just as Russel had said. 

"Yew were right..." 2D had confessed one day, heart heavy and sinking in the adamant of heartbreak. The cold waters of the deep ends already over his head and the singer was submerged in the depths of aching pain - just as Russel had said. The singer had found his damaged mind easier to blame for his dilatory on the matter; and stayed clear of his desperation for love. It was easier to explain that he was obtuse rather than a lonely boy with head full of wild fantasies - all of which ended in happy endings; someone 2D could be uxorious with. But those were just dreams and they would, forever, stay that way - 2D could understand that with his withered heart. 

"About w'ut?" Russel replied softly, fastidious towards the singer with his heart set in the right place. He was not one to take his words with an _'Told you so'_ and found his heart slowing to a halt; the alarming devastation written across the singer's face all too real and familiar. It was like a hand gripped around his heart as he eyed the singer with a careful expression, the exposed sadness in the singer's eyes and the man's red nose brought a sense of dolor. Truthfully, Russel thought it was a peccadillo for anyone to wrong the singer. And for the man to be the infamous, rambunctious Murdoc Nicalls - a real tragedy of misfortunate really; he'd do so much more than break his nose this time, the drummer vowed savagely. 

"Everything..." 

Russel had been quick to shoulder 2D, wrapping his arm around the frail frame of the singer and brushing his hand along 2D's forearm gingerly; so careful and slow it sent needles up the singer's arms. A bashfulness grew between them and the singer had let out an acute sound of distress, gawking at the drummer not-so-discreetly as he would have liked. 

" 'm real sorry, 'D. If there's anythin' I can do-anythin' at all. Let me know." 

_There is,_ the singer mused mildly, his heart jackhammering in his chest and he was all too aware of Russel's strong hand rubbing his arm so deliciously-a tingling sensation erupted from the drummer's fingertips and shocked him down to his core. A moment like this only happened once in a life time surely, he could count on one hand how many times he heard of such times, and now he knew it'd never happen with the Satanist - how could he have been so blind? Did it matter anymore? No, 2D wasn't thinking about all the negatives, he only saw Russel - and the man was still there, after all this time. Still his foundation of security and safety, still willing to be in 2D's life; most importantly, their close connection built upon trust and love, platonic/brotherly didn't matter, it was still there - strong and didn't show a sign of cracking. _Even after all this time,_ 2D repeated to himself, awestruck. 

2D contemplated Russel with a tender gaze, so open and everything up front - he wouldn't hide how much hurt and aching pain he still held; he offered the pain to the drummer and asked him to take it away, a nonverbal agreement blinking in their eyes. A moment's hesitation. In that time, Russel drew towards the singer with their breaths the only sound they could hear, aside from their racing pulses in their ears. It was like the world decelerated to a close and they were the only people left in this odd world they found themselves. Such a wonderful and terrifying feeling. 

The drummer observed 2D for any signs of discomfort, biting his lip and bowed his head respectively - a slow ask of permission. 2D blinked at Russel and only brought an invitation, parting his lips suggestively and in a rush of flustered amateur coddling, they brought their lips closer and, with a heat so intense it gave way to breathlessness, osculated with an inexperience of affectionate love. Once their lips met, the world fell away and they found refugee in each other - the feeling was so intoxicating like the pills 2D took, it was exactly what he had imagined and so much more. The warmth that radiated from the drummer so perfect and filled his silent soul with a compassion that only ever happened once in centuries - 2D was sure. And the singer had the pleasure of experiencing it. He honestly felt like a virgin in that moment; working along with drummer, painstakingly slow and trying to find what pleased the other most. He would hold this in his heart forever, take it to his grave and boast; this was what the singer had been missing out on. So much wasted time with Murdoc-he had been so blind. So, so blind. 

The drummer's hand idled below 2D's ear and he fisted his free hand in blue tufts of hair, keeping the singer in place. And the singer trailed his fingers down Russel's back and pulled himself closer until their chests touched, no space between them. Russel worried 2D's lip teasingly and pulled a small groan from the back of 2D's throat; the drummer licked at the space between the singer's teeth until he shivered against him with a soft, contented sigh. _Yes, yes, yes,_ 2D chanted to himself, repeating the drummer's thoughts. 2D could feel Russel's heartbeat and, breaking out into a grin that interrupted their passionate heat, noted that their hearts were in sync. 

2D could recall that moment with every fiber of his brain until it would feel only moments before, could feel phantoms of the touches and the drummer's thick lips. He never realized what he needed until Russel was kind enough to provide for him-like he always did. 

Now he found himself in Murdoc's Winnebago, rubbing his lips in remembrance of the drummer with a distinct smile gracing his features; the white - along with his gap - of his teeth barely seen. A few days had passed - was it only mere hours from their lovely encounter? Because, despite the importance, it felt like it had taken placed decades before; 2D had such a time trying to wrap his head around the encounter. It always made him grin wildly and shamelessly, his chest bursting in butterflies and a sickly sweet feeling in his brain that could've been ecstasy. But he was only a stoner; he didn't fuck around with the crazy shit Murdoc did. (It was only a matter time.) 

2D returned his lighter, pack of cigarettes, and his wallet back into his pocket-having spent... some time in the Winnebago, enough time to earn a rightful spot on the mattress; he had gotten into the habit of leaving his stuff laying about strewn with Murdoc's junk. Especially after Murdoc gave him the thumbs up-right after a great coupling with the singer left him in a daze-to do as he must. While, at the time, it meant the world... 2D couldn't deny the fact that he didn't feel he had a place there anymore, hence his "packing" episode. Nothing really important aside from his wallet but he was urging for a smoke.

He hummed to himself, taking a cigarette and singling it as he lit the lighter underneath it, deciding it wouldn't hurt to have a small smoke break. His eyes examined the cattywampus state the Winnebago was in, sad and disheveled-just like the man who owned it-especially so even when the singer had left everything as it was in the time of Murdoc's absence. How time had been a shapeless water in his times spent, trying to cuddle with the Bassist like a love-struck teenager; which wasn't a totally off description. Almost like rain, dissolving into itself until it slowed to trickle and all his memories of Murdoc belonged to an age. Which, again, wasn't a totally off description; the end of a chapter, one could say. He certainly was. And with full confidence, 2D would say that this past chapter couldn't compare to the upcoming one with Russel-if he ever pursued. On the other hand, Russel seems like he's taken the reigns in his own hands, playing the chaser; if the nice moments during days passed were of any relevance. 

And again he found himself staring. Just staring as his thoughts swarmed around the drummer, his heart swelling with a good feeling, and perhaps a little spittle running down his chin. Every time he saw the drummer time and space merged into the finest point imaginable and collapses together in one speck before exploding, sparks flying with a spectrum of colors; almost like his universe began and ended with Russel Hobbs. When had everything lead up to this? More specifically, to Russel? Because one minute he was lusting over a maleficence Bassist and the next... loving a puppy's love over the drummer; something tells him it had been a background occurrence-gradually developing even when Murdoc was on his mind because.. he never loved Murdoc. He liked the idea behind it all; a rough, dark, mysterious figure fucking him with a the promise of love and aftercare leaving his lips; but it was gobbledygook in the end. Lust and all that. 

2D could run every path he knew, search forever, but it would all lead back to the Drummer. A comforting fact; a solid, stable force in his world of chaotic delusion. He loves him and he can't believe he's just realizing. 

_How long did I keep you waiting,_ 2D mused with a slight frown. The feeling was so strange and foreign, almost overwhelming and terrifying but it made him complete-he never knew he was missing a piece of himself. It stretches over and in him; it isn't bound and has no length nor depth-it's absolute. A dangerous fire that surrounded him like a peace of mind and filled a hole in his heart that had gone unnoticed. It felt like his heart was dancing in his chest but it's constricting with no air at the same time; he felt so light, like he was on top of the world-he wasn't used to so many complicated emotions and it made his head swarm. 

It's so frightening. To remember being a total stranger and the turn of a budding romance like no other they've ever felt-such drastic change and so much to lose... But he couldn't help but wonder how he went this long without the drummer by his side-or the promise of it, at least. He has enough common sense and experience with failed relationships to say that.. whatever this feeling. Love? He couldn't replicate with anyone else, it's just him and his drummer. His drummer. What a nice thing to say; it made 2D smile. 

He all but choked to death when a loud creak of a door notified a gaining company, snapping out of his mind so suddenly that it left him disoriented and he had to say his name to grip reality again. 

" 'Ey, pretty boy." Murdoc greeted. Benign and relatively... sober. A right shock that was. But when 2D recovered, he frowned, the fact that Murdoc only returned because of financial problems souring his mood. 

Perhaps 2D wouldn't have felt this way if the Bassist had kept in touch on his little "night on the town" -fucking stretched to two months with no phone calls to check up on his "Songbird." The singer couldn't help but roll his eyes at that one. 

After their debut alum had racked up the charts, a generous sum of money had been placed in their hands, and when Murdoc got his share-he was gone. Pleasures, desires, and riches the only thing Murdoc had his eyes on-and on quite a few birds; unfortunate little bastards, 2D thought bitterly. And so, of-fucking-course, Murdoc would run back when his money went dry! 

"I don' get one of yer 'ello's?" Murdoc teased. Once again, pulling 2D out of his thoughts; Blinking, 2D finds Murdoc sprawled on the bed, looking at home and peaceful. The bassist watched him curiously, most likely finding it odd that 2D had spaced out for so long-and probably blaming the weed the singer smoked on occasion-and when the singer's eyes landed on the Bassist, Murdoc chuckled. 

"C'mere." 

Murdoc motions for 2D, eyes half lidded lazily and grin etched onto his face. 

"Daddy got lonely out explorin' "

"Should've phoned m' huh?" The singer's sharp tone makes Murdoc frown tiredly. The bassist sighs just as tiredly and closes his eyes. 

"I know I shouldn't've been gone as long as I was.." Murdoc grounds out softly before shrugging and breaking out into another grin. 

"But 'm back. 'hat's w'ot matters, eh?" 

"Used t' ." 

And 2D had just said that-aloud. Oh, Christ, he wasn't ready to deal with Murdoc just yet-he had only considered offing things a few hours ago. Consequently falling into a utter mess because he couldn't figure out how to... end things correctly. This was Murdoc for the love of Christ! Who knows how he'd react and it made 2D none the wiser. 

"Oh, yeah?" Murdoc had the nerve to look amused. "W'ot got 'hat in yer head?"

"Does it matter? I ain't puttin' up wit' this, kay?" 

"It does t' m' . If yer feelin' pent up-I can help wit' 'hat. Now c'mere." 

"I 'ave to see Russel." 2D retorted heatedly and continued when confusion wrote into Murdoc's expression. "Yew know! T'e one who actually gives a damn about m' !" 

A moment passed and all that happened was Murdoc bit into his lip and refused to look at 2D-which suited the singer just fine! The Bassist sat up and put his hands on his knees, eyebrows furrowed and a tight frown on his face. 

"...Yer... Serious? About 'his whole thing?" The Bassist said carefully and flicked his blank eyes to start at the singer with an uncomfortable leer. It made 2D's skin crawl with scare but he brushed it off, with a little difficulty. In the end, 2D only managed a nod. 

Murdoc licked his lips and uncertainty began to play into his posture. 

"Why? W-what did I do wrong?"

"Murdoc all yew've wanted m' fer is sex! I want more 'han 'hat, I want t' actually mean somefin'. Somefin' more 'n a sex toy anyway. N' I can't even call m'self 'hay anymore either, I ain't even worth a quick phone call am I? Months yew've been gone n' no contact whatsoever!" 

"I was busy, O-kay?" Murdoc states defensively. 

"Oh! Forgive m'! Yew was busy! Oh, yeah, 'hat makes it better!"

"Look." Murdoc grunts. "Drop it. J-just... Get over 'ere." 

"So yew can 'it m' t' ya' hearts' content? No thanks, I've got someone waitin' fer m'. Someone worth while, mind." 2D waves his hand out in the intent of goodbye and did an about-face, seething his way of the Winnebago. He clutched the doorknob, turned it, and escaped into the cool air of the deepest floor of Kong Studios. 

"Gotta go.." 2D whispered to himself, fully aware of the stubborn man inside and what he could do-he just had to keep his mind in check and he'd walk away. Should have been simple-seemed simple enough. 

" 'ey, dents!" 

Murdoc practically thrust himself, following 2D like a desperate puppy and wore an expression just as such. With quick strides and movements just the same, he made a grab at 2D's forearms and pulled the singer to halt. 

"Ye' can't just leave." The Bassist tried to reason, unreasonably. "Why not talk about 'his, huh? Ye' love t' talk don't yeh?" 

Offended, 2D whipped around and pulled his arm free, rubbing at where Murdoc had touched. 

"S'not w'ot I wanted t' imply." Murdoc reassured, tight frown on his lips. "Let's just work it out, huh? What'dda'ya say?"

"W'ot is there t' work out? S'not like 'his meant anyfin' to yew-"

Murdoc raises his hand up in the air and waves a finger at the singer, a manner of nervous expression on his face and he chuckles shakily. 

" 'hat's where ya' wrong... Let's be adults an' talk it out."

"Adults." 2D repeats sullenly and Murdoc nods his head. 

"Well, alright." 2D begins. "Why should I stay wit' yew? All yeh've eva' done is 'it m', take m' fer granted, bully 'm fer all 'm worth. 'm an idiot t' yew and-what was it? Not worthy t' walk on t'e ground yew do, s'that right? Like, 'm I anyfin' to yew? Do I mean somefin'? Or 'm I t'e only one 'hat's stupid enough t' want t' be in a relationship wit' yew?"

"Yes." Murdoc confessed, face falling with an almost pained expression. But he quickly continues when the singer's face is ashen. 

"I mean-.. I've done some facked up shit, Stuart. Not gonna lie but-"

"Yew gonna say I deserve betta'?" 2D says in a rather mocking way. 

"Yes, ye' do but-"

2D cuts him off and shakes his head disapprovingly. " 'hen we're done. Plain an' simple."

"Plain. an' simple..." 

"Plain an' simple, Murdoc." 2D bites his lip and suddenly looks out of place. "I-I'll see yew at t'e band practice tomorrow."

2D gives leaving a try again, consequently, Murdoc lunges at him and grabs both of his arms, his grip like a vice. 

"I can change." Murdoc says breathlessly and looks sincere enough for 2D to freeze. "It don' 'ave t' end like 'his, eh..?"

"Let go, Murdoc." 2D replies smoothly, working his arms out of Murdoc's grasp but the Bassist is persistent. 

"A second chance?" The Bassist pleads and follows in time behind 2D with aggravating closeness. "I 'aven't 'ad one of those yet."

"Do yew deserve it?"

"Probably not but-"

"But nothin'! Yew won't change, Murdoc, I know it. Yew've said 'hat more times 'han I care t' remember an' guess w'ot? Yew've neva' changed an' we somehow always end up 'n a constant state of m' gettin' t'e smaller en' of t'e stick! Yer a selfish ol' man, disgustin' pig-I don' even know why I wanted yew when I 'ad Russel!" 

It had been so clear yet, just as his type of idiocy did, he had not seen it-Christ help him because he'd say it again: He'd been blind. He had invented so many excuses for Murdoc, over and over again - hell, he'd gotten creative in Murdoc's two months of absence. Yet, as it stood, Murdoc kept giving him excuses to leave like a fuel to 2D's tame fire; making it crazy with all these emotions of heart ache that gradually took a turn for acceptance. But it seemed like in those days, 2D tried all his might to ignore those faults of Murdoc; love sick fool he was, like a drug addict dying from an overdose. Fuck, Murdoc had nearly killed him but 2D made an apology for him to use-how thick do you have to be? Pretty fucking stupid 2D knew. 

_You should've given me something to hold on too,_ 2D thought in bad temper, _if you really care._ Perchance a fake hope or beautiful lie spilled from Murdoc's mouth, it was possible the outcome could have been different; maybe it'd change them for the better and they'd grow into something beautiful. 

Or Murdoc would finally crush him into a million of pieces; maybe 2D would be broken like a photograph in an obituary. 

"T-t'e drummer?" Murdoc broke the silence with a terse tone and an unreadable expression with his fists shaking. "T-t'e fackin' drummer - _Russel Hobbs?!_ " 

2D could see the sizzle of Murdoc's temper; the Bassist's temper was like dynamite and that little sign showed a ten second warning; he didn't have the pleasure of duck and cover at the moment. His mind tells him to stay quiet and let the storm rage alone but something in him spurs and he just wants to see Murdoc's face when the singer screams his words of anguish. He just wants to be one the winning side for once. 

Murdoc's fury burnt with a dangerous intensity and usually put stone cold panic into 2D's system but the singer was too far gone as well; it was these bitterly cold, burning rages that had destroyed their relationship and it seemed fitting to end it with a like event. 

"T'e very same." 

"Over me?" Murdoc chuckles darkly and a flash of hurt hides behind his eyes. 

"I'd take another taste of m' ol' flame Paula over yew." 

A tension so foul in the air lingered in a pregnant silence, both men wound up beyond the gates of reason-Murdoc's mouth twitched and the Singer prepared for the first round of arguing. 

Their voices rose above the silence with every word, moments shared together thrown in the other's face in the intent to shatter whatever left remained in the man before him. It was a war of words, a contest to see what hurt the most; a battle of dominance over rabid dogs. The argument was cold and held no logic; every word over pronounced and sliced through the air in way that wasn't casual. They said love endures but so would the strong wall of bitterness that separated them-they would never be as strong as before. 

And so, Murdoc's brain to mouth filter disintegrated: 

"-ye' were a fackin' loser before I showed up-ye were ruinin' yer own life wit'out any of m' help; s'not like anyone expected any less of ye' ye' were 'n unwanted mistake and yer parents were glad when I took yer helpless case off their hands!"

"At least m' Pa' didn't beat m' senseless an' Ma' cared enough t' stick around!" 

Shortly followed with 2D's shouts of: 

"Yew miserable rat sack! brain-dead barbarian! As fresh as a scraping of zombie skin-"

And another of 2D's shouts:

"An' 'hat's why no one will eva' luv yew-"

The slap was as loud as a clap and it stung his face like a punch-he dropped with his dead weight and cowered; he cupped his face and cradled where Murdoc had hit him but he hid his tears and tried to remain in an angered stance. This wasn't something new or anything, the first hit in their relationship had surprised him because he hadn't expected it-the intent to hurt in Murdoc's eyes or the Bassists' strength. 

It had been an open hand assault and it left a red mark that burned all the eye to the tips of his ears, just below his eye was where it began to bleed, a cut where Murdoc's ring had caught him. 

He kept his face stoic, as much as he could, and rightly shouted in retaliation-hoping that his words picked up where his strength failed him. He couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice but he could put as much emotion behind his words, praying that it'd slice into his assaulter. 

2D brought back each of his darkest memories and threw them in Murdoc's face, all the terrible of deeds that had just healed over being brought back in the pettiness to remind Murdoc what he'd done; did he even care? 2D couldn't say because he refused to look at the Bassist.

"-Fack! If it weren't fer yew then I wouldn't look like a fackin' _horror attraction,_ I wouldn't 'ave these ugly dents 'n m' head!"

2D took a gulp of air and nearly choked, a sob trying to claw its' way through his throat and it was painful to swallow back the lump in his throat. He wasn't entirely sure if his tears were because of the hit or of the argument in itself - he was never one to remain calm or angry during a kerfuffle. 

A moment passed with only 2D's ragged breathing. 

2D flinched away when Murdoc crouched beside him and tried to handle his face; the Singer did his best to hide himself and get away but Murdoc grabbed his shoulder harshly and uttered:

"Quit it now!"

2D stilled, just enough time for Murdoc wrangle the Singer's arms and grab his chin, jerking his head to look at him in full. It was impossible to tell where the Singer was looking but 2D's eyes weren't the concerns of Murdoc; instead, the Bassist examined the red welt and his face fell at the sight. Murdoc licked his lips and took a shallow breath before cradling the singer's face gently, dabbing his thumb against the raw flesh. 

"Yer not ugly." Murdoc breathed out suddenly and meant it. "Yer t'e prettiest lil' thing I've eva' 'ad t'e pleasure of layin' m' eyes on... "

"Yer lyin' "

"An' yer not dumb, Stuart."

Murdoc brushed his thumb against 2D's lips. "Come on, we need t' take care of 'hat.."

But a slamming door alerts their attention and a towering figure emerges with worry lines written in his face. Russel looks between the two rapidly and stammers:

" 'D, I heard yellin' and I came as fast as I could and-"

The drummer falls silence as he connects the dots, his eyes staying on Murdoc after some time; the burning intensity not missed by either. Russel's eye twitches and he bounds across the distance between himself and the other two. 

He grabs the Singer and brings him to his feet, insistently pushing the singer to safety and telling him to leave; 2D obeys and is rapid in his movements as he rushes to the upper levels of Kong Studios - leaving Russel and Murdoc alone.

Not much guessing was need to know that Russel connected his fist with Murdoc's face, the force throwing the Bassist's head back and gravity taking the man's weight to the ground with a painful thud and a distresses yelp. Blood gushes of Murdoc's nose and he's quick to put his under his nose in an attempt to stop the flow of blood; Murdoc looks at Russel and sneers at him. 

"W'ut's that?" The drummer grits out and moodily points to a small, velvet box that dropped from the inner pockets of Murdoc's jacket-a telling of how hard Russel punched him. 

Murdoc snarls at him and doesn't seem to be concerned over the box until he gets a look at it himself, then his eyes go wide and he scrambles to try and have it in his possession again. Unfortunately, Russel feels cruel and takes easy strides to the object and has it between his fingers before the Bassist could even get two tiles nearer. 

"Give it!" Murdoc demands angrily, holding his nose and promptly wipes away excess blood. 

"W'ut's in it?"

"None. Of. Yer. _Damn._ Business." Murdoc replies with his voice raised and lunges that Drummer. But Russel knocks him back again and this time the Bassist doesn't get up, nursing his stomach with pained curses as he tries to hold back bile. 

And with that, Russel glares at Murdoc and opens the box, his eyes falling on what's displayed instead of the fallen Bassist and is immediately struck cold with shock. 

It was a Pre-engagement ring.


	2. how much are promises worth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short and just to test my own writing skills again--it's been a while. But I've come out of retirement to rewrite my bad fanfics and to produce more works. Shout out to the ones who read my works and actually liked them. (I'm also going to continue my appearingly abandoned stuff cause that's just not cool lmao)

Marriage was a Christian covenant, shapely in morals and holy sacraments. A union regarded as highest achievable and therefore unification brought a-life by lover’s promises. No, Thank you, Murdoc had said, laughing in the face of the church-entwined husband and wife. I’m already in love and I don’t need a ring to prove it. 

Despite this, he managed to brush past his words, swallowing whatever enmity claim he was to make, and slipped a promise ring--attending a silver chain-- ‘round Stuart “2D” Pot’s neck. He himself had one matching, stored away in his breast pocket where he’d further ponder the meaning and how much it meant to him. 

The ever-evolving definition of love, of a relationship, of his own character all bought in a single, drunken night: the pouring contents of feelings he didn’t know what to do with and the approaching bottom of his rum, what he wanted for 2D, all held in a ring where he was leaning heavily on the singer’s attentiveness to symbolism. 

“W’ot’s this?” 2D inquired. His cockney accent lofty in the spurs of sleep and cerulean hair bedraggled up in ringlets of cozy, ocean waves. (Eyes darkly and bagged but the familiar twinkle of curiosity, somewhere determined before the younger had met the older.)

Promise I’ll always come back to you. 

“What’s it look like?” He replied, vowels clipped and more clearly spoke. He took a drag from his cigarette, just hoping the nicotine would help any with the drilling pit in his stomach--he can just imagine what his Dad, Sebastian, would do. He can also imagine what his Dad was doing right that moment--turning in his grave most like. 

My son? Sebastian would say, A faggot? He would continue. And Sebastian would unbuckle the very belt from which he kept his pants up, the marks of rage shooting through his eyes, and he’d beat the straight into his son: as he’d done so many times in his youth. 

“It feels cold.” 2D remarked and just the slightest pout in his voice, o-so sensitive and not used to a certain tough exterior. The singer felt the promise ring some more, rubbing the cool metal between his fingers and finally smiled. “It’s a ring!” 2D said, voice cracking as he tried to express his gratitude through his tired voice. 

“You don’t say, face-ache.” Dollface, he meant. 

“I love it,” 2D continued quietly, “As much as all the others.” 

Promise you mean more than they ever will. 

Promise I thought of you the whole time. 

Promise you won’t catch me with her again. 

Promise you won’t catch me with him again. 

Promise you won’t catch me at all. 

Promise you’re enough. 

Promise I can be better. 

Promise I’ll try trying to get better. 

That would make nine in total, including the newest addition. Nine promises followed by a period where everything was breezes in summer--unfortunately, the bleak of winter always followed and another promise ring started the repeating cycle. He was very bad at this, Murdoc would admit. When had he last committed to a partner? 

“W’ot does this one mean?” 

He noted the singer looked hopeful. A certain hopefulness circled around the naivety of a heart none too broken: 2D was just a teenager, wasn’t he? He still looked to movies for the definition of love, still looked in his parent’s bible, and still imagined the sickly sweet love stories in his dreams. 

...Would he show the reality to 2D? Would he manage to fuck it all up? He didn’t like the thought--he just couldn’t stand to believe while the love-struck teenager resided in his bed, curled in a black t-shirt (owned by Murdoc) and content to just… breath in his presence. 

What did 2D expect from him? 

“What do you think it means?” Murdoc deflected, taking to use whatever fantasy 2D came up with. 

2D took a moment to consider before he answered: 

“Marry me.”

#### Unrequited

“Did you really think he would?” Russel demanded, barking out laughter none too friendly, “He can’t even stand to look at you-” The drummer dabbed his eyes, wiping away invisible tears of amusement, “You must be fuckin’ stupid or somethin’ “

“He loves me.” Murdoc hissed out, muffled by the sleeve of his shirt which continued to stain red with blood. 

“No,” Russel shook his head, his confidence rightfully placed and worrisome, “He loves me.” 

Murdoc wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted to scream, wanted to tear his own lungs out. Torn in two ways because he knew Russel was right, could just see how 2D looked to the drummer for comfort now, but he didn’t want this chapter to end like that. He didn’t want this chapter of his life to end with his heart broken right where he had only accepted to love the singer as much as he deserved. 

“You’re too late, man,” Russel continued, “Should’a never disappeared like that, huh? And what were you thinkin’ ? ‘Bout hittin’ him like that? Weird way to show someone you love them… What were you even doin’ while you were gone?” 

“I was-” Murdoc took a shaky breath, swallowing away the constriction in his throat with little effect: he gripped the hem of his shirt, gripping the fabric like a life-life, “I was learning how to love.” 

Russel laughed, “Well, Shit. You fucked that up too. And I thought D-day was bad.”


	3. Conflictions and not-so-happy times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me something: would you rather frequent updates, shorter chapters of course, or an update every certain week day, with considerably longer chapters. (sort of like every friday or something)

The guitarists’ hand swept his hair behind his ear in a quick, fluid movement. From behind the cerulean locks, black eye sockets were brimmed with stained tears and a nose ruefully red; 2D sniffled quietly (he could have been looking at her or away, she didn’t know) and wiped at his eyes, ginger-like around the bruising flesh from when Murdoc had caught him. 

“This is w’ot love does.” 2D said and sniffled once more. His eyes squinted and he looked, almost dejectedly, at his crossed legs. 

“Murdoc?” Noodle questioned. 

“W’ot?” 

“Murdoc!” exclaimed Noodle, a happy-go-lucky smile brightening her face, and she pointed at 2D’s face, more-so the discolored welt. 

2D took a moment before offering a bittersweet smile, “Yeah,” he said and pinched her finger between his own lightly, “Murdoc did it.” 

Noodle nodded and kicked him. A hefty tap of her foot that quickly brought 2D’s hands to cover his knee, rubbing profusely and letting out a string of curses. “W’ot the hell, Noodle?” He voiced within two octaves higher than normal, “Why?” 

“Love.” Noodle answered simply. She arranged her hands in a small heart of curved fingers, “Love-” She gestured back to him, “-too-chie!” 

“Ya’ love me?” 2D guessed. 

Noodle clapped her hands and nodded, “Love too-chie!” 

2D forced a smile and ran his fingers in a circle over his knee, “Why the hell would ya' kick me though?” 

Noodle pursed her lips, looking puzzled as though the answer were obvious. She pointed at his bruise again, “Murdoc love,” She then pointed to his knee, “Noodle love.” 

At her demonstration, 2D felt quite sick, a certain uncomfortable churn brought a-life in his stomach. He could only respond with a soft, “oh” and knit his eyebrows together. His chest felt caved in and his gut repeating “oh no” to him, upon just looking at the innocent little girl. “ 'hat isn’t love,” He added before he meant too. Noodle looked surprised at this, she tilted her head, and seemed to ask “It’s not?” 

2D pointed at his bruise, his eyes widening to put emphasis, “ ‘his isn’t love, Noodle.” He beckoned her forward and clapped his hands on her shoulders, shaking her lightly and feeling as though he was repeating just for himself--as though he was giving himself a pep talk, “Murdoc doesn’t love anybody-” He leaned in closer, dropping his voice, “He never did an’ you’d be a fool if you thought otherwise.” 

Noodle’s body trembled steadily, a slight wiggle and a pout tried to break out. She fought against her tears as best she could, going so far as to blink rapidly, but in little time she, too, was sniffling. Being as young as she was, she couldn’t control her tears and soon her body wracked with soft sobs and her face pathetically scrunched up. 

“Oh no,” 2D despaired, his guts being torn up in guilt and within his brotherly nature he went to kiss her forehead, a sincere “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” leaving his mouth but the little guitarist slipped away from his grasp and ran from him. Her sobs getting louder the farther she was from him, like she hadn’t been comfortable enough to cry in front of him.

### Unseen battles

He rubbed his neck, something like the world seemingly to balance on his shoulder, the weight of it all crashing down on him. The trek up to Kong’s upper levels tested his remaining composure, each step of his like a crack to his fragile mental state. The only thing to keep him pushing forth was the image of a blue-haired singer--his own little daydream imagining the singer waiting for him at the top of the stairs, ready to fall into him. 

Russel chuckled at his own thoughts. Finding it hilarious that he was back to being a love-stricken teenager once again, ever being in love with a girl from his high school, who had a boyfriend and was an upperclassman unfortunately. He had truly thought he was done with love when he got his heartbroken during his freshman year. When in fact, it appeared he just switched teams. 

The silence got on his nerves. The silence made his mouth twitch downward in a smile and he considered turning around. For whatever reason was beyond him… 

“He loves me.” Murdoc had said. The way the bassist said it however… like Murdoc didn’t believe it himself, like he was desperately trying to hold onto a cloud or smoke, like he was begging for it to be true. 

Russel shook his head, thoughts already coming in too fast, he fingered his temple in a poor effort to nurse an oncoming headache. 

Murdoc Niccals. A strange man he believed to be a hallowed shell of something more. That had been the case when Russel first came into contact with the man: shallow and always on the defense, spitting verbal abuse like his only instinct--rather purpose--was to hurt. Now… Now the bassist was just sad. The kind of sad that made Russel feel like he just put down a rough pitbull. Strange comparison but it was true. 

“I was learning how to love.” Russel could hear Murdoc say again, an echo of regret repeating in the back of his head--an echo that overthrew the screams that played constantly. 

Murdoc Niccals was his friend, no matter how much Russel tried to hate him: and no matter how much Murdoc Niccals tried to get everyone to hate him. 

Ultimately, it was like he had just ruined Murdoc’s one chance to be...himself. The one chance to redeem himself, a slow change into something Murdoc had been deprived of his whole life. 

“I never had a dad growing up.” Russel remembered saying to Murdoc one night, a night where Murdoc offered to share some of his booze--having already been mildly unfunctional at the time. That night had seemed weird, a nightmare type of weird: Murdoc had been so ridiculously drunk… The change in Murdoc, that one night, made the bassist the easiest person to talk too--the easiest person to trust and the closest person to understand. 

“My dad beat me.” Murdoc had admitted quickly afterward, staring shamefully into the brown bottle with a focus none-too-drunk, “Every night when he came home--IF he came home. Said it was my fault Ma’ left-” Murdoc paused, gulped as though it were hard to speak, continued, “Sometimes Hannibal had to help stitch me up.” 

Who had been Hannibal? Murdoc’s older brother. Of course, Russel did his best to console the bassist, “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault, you was just a kid.” 

Murdoc swirled the bottle, clutching at his neck and looking ready to be sick. “Even if he didn’t beat me up for that-” Murdoc began, “He’d find other things..”

“Oh yeah, like what?” Russel tried, collectively being as positive as he could manage, “You were a kid so what the hell would he be mad for? You were good at math weren’t you?” 

Murdoc made a sound and rubbed his chest, glancing away and grinning bashfully, “Yeah...I was,” Murdoc cleared his throat, sobering up enough to look grave, “But…” 

“But what?” Russel inquired. “I hated math! I hated everything about school except lunch.” 

Murdoc frowned, “I-” He started, determined to finish but couldn’t find enough courage. 

“I like-” Murdoc tried again, after heartbeats of silence. Russel made a gesture, telling the older to spit it out already. 

“...Boys.” Murdoc finally muttered, defeated. By that time, the meaning was lost and Russel was left confused--What about boys? Russel wanted to ask. It hadn’t been until Murdoc and 2D started to date “discreetly” that the meaning finally found him. 

Russel found himself at the top of the stairs, leading to the first floor, and with some unspoken weight on his heart, he leaned heavily on the doorframe and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Torn every which way and being stretched too thin, like air in a fire--whether dying or living, had yet to be answered. 

I love him, Russel mused, but he loves him too. It all felt too confusing--why did he have to get to know Murdoc Niccals? Why did 2D have to go and date the older man and show the real man behind the shady exterior? In fact, while he was at it, why did Murdoc’s father have to be such a dick? 

“Goddamnit.” Russel cursed. He was ready to explode, too high on emotions which conflicted with what he desired and what he was raised to be. “Damn you, Murdoc,” He said bitterly because Murdoc--the man beyond that caving, beaten, shell--was worth saving. But the task of saving the man would surely tear the glue that ties everything together...at least it felt that way. His Mama had always said doing the right thing would hurt the most… Which was debatable, of course. 

What would Jesus do? He heard his Mom say and in that moment Russel wished he could turn water into wine.


	4. The chances of family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New schedule! Mondays and Fridays! (Wednesdays included if it's a good week!) Sorry, I'm just really pumped for writing again. Plus it's been like 8 months since this fic was published and-  
> yeah.   
> //also watch out for more of my works, I'll be updating or rewriting them as well. Course can't forget the other fics I publish so, thanks for sticking with me. 
> 
> Also detailed descriptions of blood, I guess, and injuries. Murdoc oriented since I don't want to completely bash Murdoc because I mean...c'mon, it's 2018 and my fic and I like his character so please give me this lmao

The stained flesh just right of the bridge on his nose sunk into the socket, it depthened to appear as a black eye much as another nose fracture. After wiping away the bloody mess, the makings of intense bruising slithered down his chin, the Drummer’s fist wide enough to inflict a burst of his upper lip. The display was grotesque in its’ own right, the darkened dermis flowed as ashes down a pale face and overall, Russel Hobbs could throw a punch--but the obvious was that the Drummer was inexperienced. 

Something Murdoc had picked up on immediately, right before the Drummer’s fist could impact, were the deadly mistakes: types of mistakes that could land you on the floor, asleep at best. It was difficult to retain the check-list of possible mistakes during the seconds of throwing the first punch, he could understand that. But the Drummer hadn’t kept his elbow locked in place, it was a liquid curve to his face and, honestly, Murdoc could have dodged it. How many times had his father done the same? To mention, if the force hadn’t disoriented his axis (a sarcastic thanks to a panic-inducing wave of pain due to the broken cartilage and all the blood with it) he would have been capable of returning the favor: an aimed shot to the jaw, enough trauma, and the Drummer’s brain would have knocked inside the skull, lastly shutting down momentarily--a knockout. 

Not a fighter, Murdoc mused. He managed a smirk, a slight curl on his lips’ left corner, and as he looked back at his reflection, Murdoc considered the fact that as a teenger, living under his Father’s roof, he toughened worse. He slid his tongue over his teeth, tasting the rusty copper of blood, swallowed a mix with his saliva, and grinned full-face. “Child’s play,” He stated, mocking the Drummer, and loved when his grin coaxed more scarlet blood from his sore gums. 

To him, blood was just as pretty as the Singer: with a meaning to him as deeply enigmatic as himself. After a particularly rough scene with his Father, his blood that still ran thick and scarlet down his face had been the only indication that he was living--breathing and still a person. No matter how hallowed he could feel, how such an icy badland could invade his core stability, the visible life in his veins had been the factor that kept him going during his early upbringing. He was a person. He was cracked, sure, but life was something he could be entitled to as much as the next person--a comforting thought. 

“Can’t break me,” Murdoc said to the mirror, “I’ve worked too damn hard to pick myself up.” 

He refused to do it again. 

He turned the faucet on, a nice, lukewarm setting, and splashed his face thrice. He gripped the edges of the sink and watched the blood-stained droplets drip down his face. Diluted red dots flowing down into the sink’s pipe. Reality was escaping him, every blink of his echoed inside his skull, and the rising of his heart, the breaths he took, counted like seconds. 

His knuckles were white as his grip tightened, a flare of uneasy pounding flooding through his temples. He waited it out. Counting his breath through clenched teeth. “10, 9, 8,” He began, belittling himself and cursing every fiber of his being: he focused on all parts of which his pain originated, locking his mind onto specific spots in his way of dealing with pain--physical at least, “7, 6, 5,” At the end of this count, he told himself, I’ll be normal, “4, 3, 2, 1.” The pain ebbed away to the back of his priority, a short glance that he’d not revisit anytime soon, and it was manageable. He’d live. Nowhere near his heart. 

He exhaled a long breath, shaking and disillusioned, but when he stood straighter, a numb vibration existed where pain had once overcame, and he could smile through it all. His toothy smile was tight, his nerves noticing the unwell tissue, but his little trick made it come easy. “All better.” He promised himself and, surprise, surprise, Murdoc Niccals was shit with keeping promises.

### Falling apart

He gritted his teeth and snarled into 2D’s ear, “That’s enough, party-boy.” He took the cheap shot glass, spilt whiskey dripping from an unseen crack, and he drank the shot himself--his alcohol tolerance more than allowing to still be sober, even after three hours in the local pub. He fixed his distressed jacket, rustled in his pocket for the Geep’s keys, and nudged his boyfriend’s elbow. 

Two hours into this endeavor, a planned carefree night for just the two of them, and 2D had gotten rowdy. The singer just couldn’t hold his whiskey. It was amusing, watching the staggering teenager coddle up to him. Maybe it was the whiskey that had made a sincere laugh, that even he hadn’t heard in years, leave his lips and wrapped an arm around the bumbling singer. It was great, feeling loved for once, but it had been too good to be true. For after that second hour, 2D had proclaimed their relationship was bullshit. Then 2D went to find someone more adequate. 

Of course, Murdoc stopped him. He gripped him tight and ushered him into the mens’ toilets, shot glass and all. Now they were here. 

“Jackass.” 2D spat, “I bought ‘hat one.” The slurred speech was rough on the accent and even more condescending to the tone, a darkened voice that sounded sincere in the distaste for Murdoc. 

“You’re done.” Murdoc said, “We’re goin’ home.” 

“Like ‘ell we are!” exclaimed 2D, “ I ain’t goin’ anywhere wif’ you! Of all people!” 

The spark of rebellion, a thought disregarding the clear sobriety persona spoken in the flashing red flags amongst the dark pooled eyes. The innate distrust and aggression warped his boyfriend’s to a liking much like himself: Murdoc saw himself in 2D. He refused to let that continue. 

“Then I’ll call Russel,” Murdoc replied coolly, “Or a taxi. So long as you get home I don’t care.” 

“Back t’ Kong?” 2D inquired and chuckled bitterly, “ ‘hat ain’t home. ‘hat’s where you are.” 

Murdoc furrowed his brows, biting his lip out of habit, and could’ve caved: he felt himself try to back down and flee the scene, just leave the drunk mess until dawn. But instead, he hunted up some resolve and said: 

“You don’t mean that.” Like the coward he was. 

“ ‘hat’s the most sense I’ve spoken since the car crash.” 2D smirked, a lopsided flick of the corners of his lips, “You’re such a fackin’ dick. T’ me. T’ Russel. T’ everyone, really.” 

Murdoc remained silent with his lips slightly pursed, doing what he could to regain whatever apathy his Father beat into him: but how could he when 2D was speaking? Like it was burned into his flesh, 2D’s words spread a type of self-deprecation for himself and much like a loathing he felt uncomfortable in his own skin--because 2D didn’t want him. If only he had been born as someone other than Murdoc Niccals, maybe 2D would like that. 

“Who do you think you are?” asked 2D, looking at him through squinted eyes, a mockery in the breathy laugh, “You think you actually get to treat anyone like that?” 

The truth hurt, his chest constricted and breath didn’t come even as his lungs expanded rapidly, shallow and Murdoc only wanted to collapse. He could feel his taped pieces fall apart. 

2D leaned closer to him, to whisper into his ear, he said, “Just cause you’re parents didn’t love you doesn’t mean you’re a special snowflake. I’m sure you get a kick out of makin’ everyone feel sorry for you. Lemme tell ya’ I personally feel you deserved it.

“You’re a sorry piece of work, Niccals.” And from there, it wasn’t 2D speaking to him. Murdoc froze, hearing the familiar voice of his father rasp: 

“Just a waste of space.” 

The tang of whiskey gave the illusion more truth for him, it solidified whatever fucked up scene he imagined. His Father said, “Why are you crying, son? Prove you’re worth--don’t let this spoiled bastard tell you what you can and can’t do. We’re Niccals folk. We get to do whatever we want.” 

The curse of emotion lifted, a heavy blessing as the emotional turmoil lessened to just an empty space of wastes inside himself--it was an escape only apathy gave him and he was on board fully. When he looked at 2D again, he snarled and pushed past the Singer roughly, stopping to turn on his heel and raise his fist in order to watch 2D fall off his pedestal and cower. 

“I don’t need some punk-ass teen to tell me I’m worth nothin’ “ Murdoc retorted and flipped the singer off, feeding into his fake sense of confidence at the moment, “I’ll go out an’ prove I’m worth more dead than alive myself!”

### Rebuilding

Sharp knocks delivered to the winnebago’s door, purposeful and not at the height of any adult Bandmate, but matching as much intensity as he’d imagine Russel. Murdoc took a breath to steady himself, try to appear like he was functional--unfortunately his technique worked in vain for emotional shit he dealt with on a daily basis. 

“Hold on!” He hollered but the knocks only became more insistent, shortly turning into a hate crime against his door. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” He cursed aloud, vivid at this rude interruption and went for his door, ill-tempered as his reputation provided and lively as he opened his door. The guitarist stood on the makeshift steps and wore a pout on her lips, fringe covering both eyes and he stopped at the lame rendition of his own. He blinked away his stupor and snapped his fingers in front of her nose, “I heard you the first thousand knocks! Damnit, can’t you be patient?” 

Noodle only sniffled angrily and hit his thigh, a poor example compared to what she was usually capable of. “Goin’ easy, huh?” Murdoc sneered, “Kid, I’m really not in the mood.” She stuck her tongue out at him, making enraged-little-sounds in the back of her throat. 

“Go play with...yourself-” Murdoc paused, “Wait, fuck, don’t do that-” Murdoc cursed himself for his perverted nature, “Damn-wait…” He sighed heavily, defeated. “Satan, you don’t wanna talk to me right now.” He was a mess. 

Noodle wasn’t affected and still stewed in her angry stances, hopping on the tips of her toes as if she was ready to swing her fist again. The threat was there as she growled at him, baring her teeth much like how Murdoc did subconsciously. He gave her an odd look, “Kid, just tell me what you want an’ go away.” 

“Murdoc.” Noodle finally answered gravely. 

“Yeah?” 

“Not love!” Noodle exclaimed at him, craning her neck to just shout her shaky english in his facial direction. 

Murdoc narrowed his eyes, not quite understanding, “Excuse me, what?” 

“Noodle-” She gestured to herself.

“That’s you.” Murdoc agreed, nodding. 

She surprised him by wiping her tears, revealing eyes with brimming tears but despite the obvious despair kindling in her green eyes, she still found some composure to look him in the eye. “Not love-” She stated, “Noodle.” And her tone spoke of betrayal, like she never expected him to be capable of doing her wrong and quite frankly….his feelings twinged. 

“I don’t love you?” Murdoc guessed. 

Noodle hesitated with her nod. 

“Guess what?” Murdoc asked, “That’s a load of horse-shit-” He stopped, “Wait, who the fack told you that?” 

She wiped her eyes again, “Too-chie.” 

Burn in Hell Stuart, Murdoc thought at once. He bent down on one knee and raised his arm in invitation for his best hug. (Which consisted of only one arm.) “Well, he’s a damned liar,” Murdoc said earnestly and determined just right to get through to her, “Cause I’d die for you.” 

Well, in fairness, he’d die for just about everyone and Noodle seemed to know this too: she shook her head and tilted her head to the left. An unspoken conversation only they could hold…

Murdoc thought for a moment and corrected himself:

“I’d live for you..?” 

This was the right answer and Noodle fell into his embrace, curling on his thigh and wept. She told him, in her native language that he’d taken care to learn some of--he managed to put her words together--about how mean 2D had been. Said 2D had told her otherwise and she apologized for having believed. In prideful moments later down, he spoke to her in Japanese: He forgive her, he had said….or what he believed he had said….What he hoped he had said. 

Noodle giggled, throwing him off. Well, shit, Murdoc mused, that’s the last time I learn from a fortune cookie. 

“You know what?” he asked, aware she could understand him just fine, “We don’t need that mean singer-” he cradled her dearly, feeling like he could fix what his Father had done to him by making sure Noodle turned out alright, and speaking more to himself like...like he was giving himself his own pep-talk, “We don’t need anybody. Kid, we’re gonna be alright cause...err--we have each other an’ yeah…” 

Noodle giggled again and patted his chest, “Tried.” 

He managed a chuckle, “Yeah, I tried. Thank you for noticin’ “


	5. White light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So....Exciting things happening--used in past tense as well. I got an editor, right? They read through the story and said the last chapter 5 would be better for a new story and I totally agreed. It's deleted and stored away and I got a new one ready! Sorry for the confusion, terribly and truly, but the editor also pointed out the lack of 2Russ--that's not fair of me. Enjoy!

“I’m,” He stopped, cutting himself off in the hopes of gathering the thoughts that clouded and lingered, the type of thoughts that possessed and choked. He raised his hand and fisted it in the fabric of his shirt, gripping tightly. “Angry.” He finished with a slight tremble. 

Murdoc remained silent, back to him as they lay in his bed, curled in of only themselves because they no longer could count on the comfort they had once given. The space cold and infinite, each an isolated island with a barrier of rattled communication. “I love you.” One could say and the other would hear white noise, whether by choice or not was to be decided. 

There was a point where patience was stretched too thin, where the fire blazed bright greedily and extended the air until it could on longer provide. Stuart reached that point. “Aren’t you gonna say somef’in’ ?” He demanded sharply, craning his head and glared at the turned figure of Murdoc Niccals. “Anyf’in’?” 

“With me?” Murdoc spoke at last, a soft participation that needn’t an answer. “What’d I do this time?” 

“W’ot didn’t you do?” Stuart took his eyes away in favor of closing them tightly, snuggling into his pillow violently like it had done him wrong; ignoring the heat in his face, the constriction at the back of his throat, and how hard it was not to cry. “Everyf’in hurts an’ you don’t care!” The singer said hotly, “I told you I’d love you fer the rest of m’ life but you don’t care. You can’t say it back.” 

“You know damn well I’d go crazy without you in m’ life.” Murdoc chided and sighed tiredly. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the cool chill that often came to him: a frosty silence bringing his mental capacity to a standstill, a pain he sleeps through night after night, emotional scars he’s dealt without false hope. 

White noise. Stuart snorted, some sort of mockery, and said; “You can’t say it back ‘cause you don’t love me-” He sniffled, “Go buy yourself somef’in you can actually love ‘cause I don’t want the stupid promise ring you’re thinkin’ of gettin’ me.”

### Priorities

Murdoc could be saved. He could be tolerated. He had the right to love and to be loved. But looking at the bluenette, how the purple welt was swelling painfully against the perfect skin, Russel was struggling to see the Damoiseau-in-distress. If a choice had to be made where the Bassist dangled from inescapable self-destruction and the only salvation was Russel’s support…(He ran his thumb over 2D’s cheek, brushing away fresh crystalline tears, and murmured soft reassurances best he could against the tremble of the singer’s lower lip. Russel noticed the missing twinkle of the 2D’s once-lively eyes, a purity taken by Murdoc, taken for granted and casted off like a worn toy.) The more he dwelled on the thought, the clearer he could see Murdoc collapse into himself, shrivelling away until he came like the father he so despised. 

Russel would care for 2D now, something Murdoc wasn’t obviously suited for--especially granted that Murdoc needed to be protected from himself. Russel would take the pieces Murdoc, whether intentionally or not, made and pick them together until 2D was healed, soothe him and tend and appreciate--never be the one to cause harm. 

Murdoc would have to wait, Russel supposed, 2D needed him and he’d be what the broken man needed most. He’s my life, Russel thought and mentally smacked himself after. He was especially sappy today it seemed, maybe it was just the fondness he felt for the singer? Or just the empathy? A combination of both? Russel deemed not important--right that moment at least. The singer had begun to lean into his touch, on the way to being soothed, being taken care of like he should, placing the pieces back together. Russel hummed sadly, the tears still flowing down 2D’s pale face: the wetness giving a lofty look that fell gently on the singer’s face, softening the edges a bit. 

Like a lil’ angel, Russel mused to himself, he smiled softly at the thought and couldn’t help but bump his head against the singer’s. “Look,” He began tenderly, as much as he could muster, “I know it’s pretty fucked. It’s ugly. An’ you’re in a bad place right now-” He took 2D’s small hands and bent to kiss a knuckle on each, “But….Well, I’m here. I ain’t leavin’ and I suppose all this seems...pretty world-ending. And suppose you can’t find it in you to keep going?” Russel cleared his throat and looked to the side--when had he ever been good with words? “I just want you to know that… Even when it’s hopeless… I’m….Let me carry your hope for you.” 

2D sniffed and pulled a hand away, to rub his nose on his sleeve. “Wow, Russ.” 

The drummer groaned quietly and felt his face heat up, “Too much?” He said quietly. 

“Lover, I f’ink ‘hat’s the nicest f’ing you’ve eva’ said t’ me.” 2D stated, grinning a little. A piece floating back to place all its own.

### Can't leave him out

Hopeless it would seem. Hopeless it was. He took a nice, lengthy drag from his cigarette, after a bit coughing everything up in a horrid fit. The nicotine was nice, the indulgence a helping cope and buzzed his head pleasantly. The scratch of his throat painfully well. Perhaps his head was foggy, like clouds settled or a wave of apathy, or heartache just broke him...Even if for just the moment. Just another moment. Another moment where he could see the stars. Black or red, it always came to him and escaped. 

Just another dive, yet another moment where he felt giddy with empty: the distance of his worlds connecting and dividing and so infinite but not invincible sadly. 

His pencil tip snapped on the paper, ashes of graphite smudged against the neat handwriting, cryptic and hieroglyphic in the taste, that only he could understand and feel. A moment passed and a sensation followed through with a vengeance. His hand trembled terribly, a whole new wave starting up again: a sweet loathing inside that wanted to stay nested in his stomach. I deserve it, Murdoc mused and fought none against the feeling of losing his mind. 

He could throw up, wanted too actually, in a frail attempt of getting the terrible ache out of his system like a mistaken disease. It was all too much and no matter how he tried to dive, dive back where feelings didn’t follow, the fiery feeling of giving too many fucks melted away the ice of apathy. He couldn’t breath through the fire, couldn’t catch up to his body’s needs, the world was crushing him, cities were falling apart-

He gripped his knuckles until they turned white, until his nails sunk into his palms and casted out crimson. He was falling through the glass and he could see no way back up--all alone in a abyss, the one he dug for himself. Murdoc was always afraid of the dark. 

He grabbed his pencil and thought to graze it against his skin but little hands covered the targeted flesh. He dropped the pencil as fast as he acquired it, shocked to think he could have cut into Noodle’s tiny hands if he hadn’t noticed fast enough. Damnable. Horrid. 

Murdoc looked into Noodle’s scared eyes, glinting emeralds that seemed to crumble at his actions, her tiny face written with concern and he knew he didn’t deserve it--knew he didn’t deserve her. 

“I don’t know why I was gonna do that,” Murdoc said to her like a plea, “I-I don’t know-” He was choking, swore his Father’s hands were around his neck all over again, “I promise-” He lost Noodle to tears that seemingly came without end, he blinked away the wetness as fast as he could. A grown man, His Father would have said, scoffing, I didn’t raise my son to be a pussy. 

“Otousan,” Noodle murmured and gripped him in a hug, holding the crumbling shards of him together. Her arms his life-line, the world would crash without her, Murdoc thought. “Okay. It’s okay.” She said to him and sounded genuine. 

“He loved me,” Murdoc croaked, too pitiful to think of how embarrassing the situation was--him, a grown ass man, crying over 2D like a teenger’s first love…”Christ, that perfect idiot loved me. Why couldn’t I love like him?... What am I going to do?” 

Noodle shrugged sadly. Just a little girl with a big heart. She gave his nose, that she thought was funny, a chaste peck. “Love you,” Noodle stated with wide smile, “Otousan-” She pointed to him, “Loves me.” Noodle seemed happy with that. 

Murdoc managed a bittersweet grin, “Yeah, you monkey, I love ya’ “ He’d love this little girl better than his Father was ever capable of with him. 

Noodle patted his chest and spoke her first sentence: 

“And I’m not letting you fall apart.” Delivered like she’d been waiting. 

Murdoc was stunned into silence. 

“I’ll fix you an’ your heart.” She promised him and meant it. She took his hand confidently and folded her own over his, saying, “I’m here. For you. Forever!” 

Murdoc could only laugh. Laughing happily, having waited his entire life for someone to care so genuinely it could only seem. The curse lifted just a little, the curtain opening just enough so that Noodle may enter the dark abyss with him and wait until he was strong enough to pull the both of them out--strong enough to love truly and hopefully as he was meant too. 

In that moment, like windmills turning without worry and free, he felt he could take whatever was inside of him and let the ticking unwind to nothingness--playing a song most heard that he wasn’t given. He...felt good. Nice and like damnation was something he could escape. 

He looked at his daughter and ruffled her hair playfully, “You’re real corny,” He joked, not knowing what else to say but smiled his appreciation. The weight lifting enough and the space between the forces no longer as broken. They were like cogwheels, helping and caring and tending and there, turning forever. Hand in Hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lack of 2Russ is heartbreaking honestly. I just have such a hard time writing the pairing and I have no idea why--that's a lie. I value Murdoc more now, didn't used too months back, but now I just can't write him off as a bad guy completely. Curse these changes, it's making 2Russ hard to write. But I'll manage. 
> 
> Sorry for missing the scheduled update, I'll get better.


	6. All Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy and don't be afraid to comment! I just love those--you all spoil me! <33

“Are you happy?” Russel had the guts to ask, his insecurities too great to ignore, “With me?” 

“Why would I not be?’ 2D answered back, just as Russel applied a cold compress. He flinched at the cool contact, (“ ‘D, quit it.”) and tried to relax but couldn’t help to fidget. “You’re perfect. Helpin’ m’ wif m’ shiner an’ everyf’in.” 

Russel smirked and shook his head in exasperation, having to cease his aid to fight against the dark flush that began to kiss his face. “You’re too cute,” Russel responded uneasily and applied the cold compress--which was a bag of peas--to his singer’s face. “Worst part is I think you know that.” 

“So?” 

“That makes you dangerous.” Russel playfully stated and helped 2D put his hand over the compress, leaving his hand top to rub a smooth circle over his singer’s knuckles, feeling loads more confident, he added, “You’ll have me suicidal, suicidal, when you say it’s over-” singing softly to his singer. 

2D blinked, looking loft with a twinge of sadness, “W’ot? Why would you say ‘hat Russel?” He demanded dejectedly, gripping his drummer’s hand sharply and looking rather hurt. 

“I-it’s a song,” Russel tried to explain. “Beautiful girls. By Sean Kingston.” 

“Why would I say it’s over between us?” 2D continued, “We’ve only just begun!” 

Russel chuckled, worriedly and more than awkwardly, he put his hand on 2D’s knee and shook his head, hoping to reassure the singer when he said:

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, royal. Just a song I felt like singing to you.” 

2D blinked, twice, thrice, four times, before he nodded, “Well, if you say so, Lover.” 

“L-love you just the same.” Russel said, feeling his face up to panicking levels, his words tumbling out his mouth and around the vowels, “Which is… a lot, by the way. Case you didn’t know.” 

His singer’s face lit up, a self-righteous smirk finding its way on his face, 2D’s face twitched and the smirk fled into a pout. “Hurts t’ smile,” 2D explained shortly. 

“Oh,” Russel could only say. 

“Kiss it?” 2D asked, more of soft command. The question caught his drummer off guard, a slight part of lips where he didn’t know what to say and was frozen of introverted spacing: ultimately, Russel leaned forward, moving away his hand, and lightly pecked, fearful of hurting 2D, the black eye. “All better?” Russel asked. 

2D smiled again, despite the obvious uncomfortableness, “All betta’ !”

## Epistaxis

Sweet as carob, Noodle had trooped in the search of ice; flowing heavily, Murdoc’s nose had bled again. He had tilted his head back, knowing the commonly method, but Noodle had snapped her fingers in front of his face. “No!” She exclaimed and told him to keep his chin down, pushing napkins into his hands and making a gesture to keep pressure. Then off for ice, to help with the inflammation. Murdoc complied. 

Once Noodle had gone, the silence followed ruefully and crept up his spine like needles, ringing in his ears like bells. An overwhelming jingle that played out, it sounded like…. Melancholy. Yes, that was it. It called from the depths in his mindscape where only his Father and Sun Moon Stars lurked: it was dominating however. A certain withdrawal his body convinced it was suffering, the horrible ache in his heart feeling like the space between life and death. Before he knew what was happening, he was caught up again in a blizzard… apathy caught up quick. 

He slumped, leaning on his couch for some time, feeling his heartbeat to calm silence. He dropped his hands to rest in his lap and stared at the napkins decorated in deep, dark red stains and from there, he watched as droplets dripped onto his forearms. 

Heavy felt his body, too much effort to move, to think of wiping away the bloody mess before the little girl saw--Satan, there was so much blood. Too much blood, his brain supplied. The coppery taste slid down his throat, the constriction much like suffocating: he gagged, once, twice. He could manage to spit a mouthful but blood kept gushing, like a water fountain in a downtown square. 

A pang of lightness washed over him, his thoughts near drunken and swirling in a tilting bowl, he gripped the cushions of the couch, ripping into the soft inners. “Noodle.” He called hoarsely, his voice foreign to even his ears that drummed with rushing water--perhaps blood..? “Noodle!” He called again, panicking and all over the place. His head felt too empty, like it would collapse at the drop of a penny and like his imposing quietus was looming--the grim reaper staring him straight. The rush of liquid and the pound of his heart echoed loudly in his ears, in a desperate attempt for silence, he pushed his hands into his skull and yanked at his hair. 

His body yearned for it to stop. He felt tired and he considered to slump over and fall under the mistress call of sleep but the twinges in his chest told him something was wrong. Very wrong. His breathing was cut in half by ration, with it, his chest pain intensified--he needed air. He swallowed heartedly, thinking it’d clear his mouth, but the metallic taste and smell imposed at his reflex. He bent forward and vomited. 

“Sweet m..mother of sin,” Murdoc stuttered and had trouble staying upright, vaguely aware he’d slip into his own mess. He wiped at his nose, a strong line of blood trailing his forearm as he went. “Why now?” He asked himself quietly. 

Get up, Boy, His Father said to him and he pictured him sneering, handing over a bucket. Murdoc went to grab it but his Father was dead and so it was only his imagination or mental instability that kept his tormenter around--still controlling him well into his 30’s, scoffing his every turn of decision. 

Still here? His Father demanded and Murdoc could only nod his head ‘yes’, So this is how it ends? Time to go? His Father continued. Your Mother didn’t put you on my doorstep for kicks, ya’ know. Get up and make her death mean something. Do you even care about her anymore? 

Murdoc knew the answer, swore he did, but the answer didn’t make itself known in his head, easy to say but hard to understand. He loved the idea of her, was the easiest to put it. So he could only push himself to his feet, waves of nausea hitting him ruthlessly, and go for the phone. 

Emergency department, his Father urged. 

“What’s that, 9-1-1?” Murdoc asked aloud. In fact, it was not. That’s America, you idiot, Murdoc thought to himself bitterly, and dialed 9-9-9.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't like how Murdoc is getting the spotlight? :( tell me so in the comments! I get too excited over angst and Murdoc is quite the fitting character but if I must I can sit down and right some 2russ fluff if it suits you best!


	7. Fin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, goodbye to this fanfic! Really wasn't supposed to drag out this long 'cause the first chapter started when I had disliked Murdoc as a character and coming back to it just set me up for a bias continuation, where I don't want any of the band mates to be the antagonist. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for sticking with and hope you stay with me for more works I'm planning! (Whom will be in better quality, that's a promise I can keep surely. This time I'll write the whole thing out so inconsistencies and such are kept a minimum) with love xoxo Scooby

“Had my insurance been disreputable,” Murdoc established, seated on the exam table, heel of his boots on the footplate whilst sitting forward with his thumbs twiddling between his thighs, “You’d be paying off the closed nasal reduction.” 

The drummer hummed a light chuckle, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and head propped in his palms, a grave pondering on his countenance. For the past thirty minutes or so, the drummer had partaken to stealing numerous glances at Murdoc’s nose with guilt swimming deeply each time: done Murdoc’s nose in two times prior, Murdoc thought the drummer would think nothing of it, but he supposed things were different… Murdoc could only admit reluctantly, a pit of jealousy just below his feet. 

Understandably enough, 2D had stayed back...Murdoc didn’t want to see the other either. Hell, he had not wished to see his ex’s boyfriend but, yet, Russel insisted on driving. He still had no clue as to why--You’ve won, Murdoc had mused, and you still want to humiliate me? 

He fixed the tissues in his nose, swapping the bloody napkins in for a clean pair: he twisted the ends into soft cones and plucked them in his nose, applying pressure where Noodle had said, and taking care to lean his head downward--such as Noodle had said. Speaking of his mini-me, he chuckled humorlessly--warranting unwanted attention from the drummer--as he thought back to how worried she had been. He thought back to how worried he had been, nearly scared to heart attack. 

Thought you wanted to die, he mused, and Murdoc realized he was lying about even that--his willingness to live back at Kong being supervised by 2D. 

“What’s so funny?” Russel asked carefully, trying to be polite. Murdoc could tell. 

“This whole thing really,” Murdoc admitted with a bitter grin. Upon Russel’s raised brow and gesture to explain, he asked; “Why are you here, Russ? You’ve already got what you wanted… or is dating my...my-” Husband, he had wanted to say but settled for, “-old flame not enough?” 

“Err--” Russel could only begin to say before he was cut short. 

“Come on, leave already,” Murdoc rubbed his eye, “Damn you… I know you two don’t want me around so just leave and I’ll take care of myself-” He waved his hand dismissively, growing quieter and his voice becoming unsteady with each word passing, “Goddamnit. I want to hate you. I really fuckin’ do-....” Murdoc intertwined his fingers together and gazed at the floor, eyes glossy, staring shamefully, “But you’ll love him like I never could, like I’m not capable of, and honestly...that makes me the happiest man on earth. For him.” 

Silence had fallen and Russel still did not yield, refused to leave Murdoc Niccals this broken. 

“Mudz,” Russel addressed, “You’re not leaving. Not me. Not Noodle.” 

Murdoc managed to look at the drummer briefly, terrified to look into the white eyes for too long, he replied:

“You can’t be serious. I’ve done some horrendous shit, Russ.” 

Russel looked off the side, now gazing at a flu poster. He thought briefly before facing Murdoc again, he put up his hand with his index finger up, “I’ll let go of the kidnapping thing. Once.” 

“But-”

“This isn’t about him.” Russel stated, even before he knew what the older was going to say--took a chance as to what it was, “I’m not forcin’ him to forgive you. But forgiveness is a process and a choice-one I’ve made for myself. I’ll forgive you, Murdoc.” 

Murdoc chuckled, “Sweet sat-...Why?” 

“We’re all fallible human beings capable of messin’ up, I’ve done some shady shit too. Forgiveness is ‘bout recognizin’ that life is messy and unpredictable. Forgiveness is more than just acceptin’ or lettin’ go, it’s compassion and...empathy-! Forgiveness, to me, is workin’ towards repairin’ somethin’ damaged and disillusioned--...” Russel took a breath, face heating up in awkward realization, he continued nonetheless; “It’s a peace process. And my forgiveness is love--” He reached over and put his hand on Murdoc’s downturned head, ruffling the hair tensely, “I love you, man. Simple as that. An older brother if you will--what like nine years older than me? Yeah..” 

Murdoc shook his head, escaped from Russel’s touch by leaving the exam table and retreating to the end of the admittedly small room. He could only stare into the corner, holding his arms, and feel the burning sensation of the drummer’s gaze on the backside of his head. 

“I’m a monster.” Murdoc said and meant it. 

Russel sighed, feeling for the man deeply. At a lost, Russel hummed again, thoughtful and friendly in a way. He rubbed his knuckles… thinking. In truth, almost all he had spoke was on impulse--his impulse to please the masses. He enjoyed Murdoc’s company from time-to-time, wanted to see the man beneath all the rocky exterior: help the older find some peace. On the other hand… Russel blushed at using boyfriend to describe 2D, a little unsure with the term when he had begun to be confused whenever Murdoc and 2D were tangled in the same thoughts. Murdoc had been a bad lover, as far as Russel could tell: though socking the singer was something few and far between, rare. That doesn’t excuse the ill of the situation though, Russel knew this. 

They were better as friends, Russel mused. He also supposed the relationship was brought on by appearance: though in Murdoc’s case was unknown--he could say, a little bashfully, that the older was an enigma and his actions seemed to be without intention other than a heathen’s attitude. Anyway, Russel professed that Murdoc wasn’t one to be held with all blame. If a man like Murdoc walked away this torn, just as well as the other party, then was it brought by himself or forced onto? Russel could only guess, unfortunately. 

The close he would claim he had gotten was that Murdoc and 2D were both terrible to each other, whom was the better person irrelevant and a question easily answered, yet, the fault was still there and marked. Russel, trying to be unbiased and succeeding, rubbed his chin in thought and trusted his evaluation. Abuse was still abuse, no matter the kind: it was better 2D stay away from Murdoc and vice versa. If Murdoc walked away this hurt and feeling considerably self-destructive it was not physical scars. Moreover, if 2D went with such a mindset as he then obvious physical. 

Glad he got that out of the way but he only delayed the bigger picture, as well as state the obvious, and now Murdoc was fidgeting too finicky; only a short amount of time for Russel to work with. How he could maintain his relationship with 2D and still help Murdoc? Russel looked to the older and shook his head, wishing he hadn’t grew to care this much for it’d be easier. But he did and now he’d have to live in his feelings for the time being… 

A thought came to him and he went with it, Russel said, missing a few too many beats;

“There’s a little girl back at Kong who says there’s more.” 

“And that little girl doesn’t know a penny’s worth of the real world.” Murdoc retorted, “She’s too young to understand, don’t even bring her into this.” 

“It’s a matter of change, Mudz.” Russel went on, “Whoever said you weren’t capable of love isn’t tellin’ the truth, you should know that, idiot. That’s a matter of letting yourself be loved and to love just as you have been--” Russel softened, “And right now, Mudz, you ain’t have no one treat you right. No one to really show you the definition of love, probably something you just look to movies for…”

Murdoc’s eyes widened, thinking back when he had thought that true for the singer… Yet, coward as he was, he replied sharply:

“A leopard can’t change his spots, Russ.” 

“That ol’ adage don’t mean shit. People can change. You can’t snap your fingers and wish away the negative; you can’t even sabotage yourself with the same demons neither, you’ll never think you can change like that. Change is a process, first by being aware: own up to it! Self-awareness without judgement, a sensible commitment.

“No more excuses, no fairytales. Know who you want to be, see the goal, and-”

“For fuck’s sake, Russel!” Murdoc snapped, “I’ve heard it all before, for the love of Satan, just fucking shut up. I’ve tried. Over and over again. I just can’t! Just stop… I’m already tired of disappointing myself as well as the people around me. I can’t change.” 

Russel tried to say how Murdoc had already changed, the heartbreak of love had been known and had stilled the older’s endless circle: he could see how Murdoc had changed and how he could change. Russel wanted to scream at the older, at anyone really: it was like only he could see the real Murdoc, the only one who actually gave a damn, the one who could see the potential…

“Murdoc.” Russel had started but was cut off.

“I was telling the truth, you know.” Murdoc said. Russel rolled his eyes, preparing to argue, but then Murdoc continued; “I left to see my brother...We both went to Father’s funeral,” Murdoc was unreachable now, far away and aloof, “I thought if I made some sort of closure with my family I could love, the root of my problems, I believed. I think differently now and you were right, I fucked it up. I’m the problem, always was.”

He went to ask how this tied into anything, how this mattered, but Russel, an act of selfishness, asked instead; “When did I ever say you fucked everything up?”

And that was right, when Russel thought about, he had said that. Meant it at the time he would shamefully admit. 

“I tried, Russ.” Murdoc pled, “I tried and I failed. The only steps left to take is for you to go back to Kong, to 2D, and pick up the pieces I’ve made.” 

“Who’s going to help put you back together?” Russel blurted. 

“I’ve done it before,” Murdoc replied carefully, “I think I can do it again.” Even when his heart was heavy and he knew he wouldn’t bother, he said this to ease the younger’s mind--just recognizing the drummer was still young and naive. 

“But you aren’t.” Russel stated, surprising him. 

A long stretch of silence before Murdoc agreed, “No,” he shook his head, “No, I’m not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending is more to your imagination. How I picture it to end is not very happy: Russel and 2D don't last long, the band splits, and due to poor living arrangements as well as poor income, Noodle is taken from Murdoc. That's how I was going to write this but I didn't want to ruin the experience any further :( so do as you wish and I hope you find it in your heart to tell me the ending you're putting in place.


End file.
